More like two tongues next to each other like squid legs. They shove their two tongues into the liquid in the tube and their tongue separates and liquid gets between then when the bird zips its tongue out it pulls the water with it between its two tongues. Like this. It is a wonder of nature, a biologic mind blower.

The seventh hummingbird feeder is a red Avon bottle with its glass topper. There are no glass additions, only copper wire. No copper leaves, no nut'n, just wire. And it looks so plain and non-ridiculous that I might have to fix that later. I tested lots of junk and it all goes ridiculously as intended, but it's left off for now. I pulled off the plastic ring that makes the top fit tightly because I didn't like it.

I noticed the stats zoomed on one of the sites for support pages and I thought, "oh goody people are interested in hummingbird feeders" but not so, nobody cares about those, they were checking out the weirdest things that are not feeders. Someone in England was checking out the Great Battenburg disaster, must have had trouble loading the page. Droll as can be and not worth the trouble to click. I don't even know why I did that. And someone else in the Neatherlands is reading the heck of the doors for the Angry Monkey pop-up that went to my GP. It makes me happy that someone I don't know is learning how to make an Angry Monkey. Or a door.

Chip AhoyInteresting video after two annoying pop-ups and a sponsors message. It's hard to see the action happening from the pictures. Someone had to have spent a lot of time looking at it frame by frame.I like the red Avon bottle the best of all the bottles so far, but how often do you have to fill it?

It looks like I'm up alone here. Waiting for daughter to get home from a school trip. Watching AlGore on Fox explain how Obama was overcome by thin air. Sheila Jackson Lee claims she thinks "astutely."I can't watch.

wyo sis, they're too small to work for an active area, they'd drain too fast.

These are for migration and lightly populated places. Plus I intend to put out about dozen of them twice a year for a few weeks. I don't know what other people will do. Put near a window I suppose. I noticed Joe took the biggest bottle.

Sorry about the ads, I only had one and it was short. Almost looked for a different vid because of that.

A Little Halloween Horror Story(this is not going to be funny. You have been warned.)

Dr. George Tiller was sitting people at his church. A controversial man, Dr Tiller looked forward to these quieter interactions with the public. His day job was very stressful.

A new parishioner, somewhat sweaty, and nervous stepped into Dr. Tillers view. A gun suddenly appears in the mans hand, and he point's it at the doctor...blankness.

Blackness...so deep it clutches the mind. So deep not even retinal flash alleviates the nothingness. And the a glint of white. A mote. It expands and accelerates to Dr. Tiller, faster than possible.

Dr. Tillers senses are preternaturally sharp. Just as he "knew" the darkness before was complete, he "knew" that he wasn't in a physical place anymore. The very ideas and concepts were solid. The room he was in was Room. The chair he was sitting in was chair. Not atoms and molecules arranged in the concept of chairiness. It was just chair.

The desk before him was desk, and the elderly man sitting on the opposite side of the desk...

"Hello George. Do you remember what happened to you?" the man asks in a warm, rich voice.

"The...the...there was a man wi..with a gun!" Dr. Tiller stammered, shocked. How did he get here? Where as here? Why did everything seem so solid, yet ethereal? "Who are you?"

"I'll get to that in a moment." the man said reassuringly. "I know you have questions. You all do. I would like to ease your anxiety, and though it is hurtful, the best way is to be brutally honest. So if you're ready, I'll explain"

"Please" Dr. Tiller says, "what's going on?"

"You were killed, Dr. Tiller. The man with the gun killed you. You died instantly. This is your judgement." The elderly man replied. "I am Saint Peter. I m the Gate Keeper to the other side. And I stand as Judge here. Let me be frank. There is no appeal. There is no testimony. And there is only me and you here. You are here, awake, concious, so that I can see your true heart, and I have. I am ready to pronounce judgement on you. You are allowed to make a statement, even ask some questions, but rest assured, they will have no impact on my decision. That is already made and final."

"Did the children you performed abortions on get to make a defense!" an angry Peter snapped back. "When the littlest one's of God's children were in your hands, did you protect them?"

"But the mothers... they...they..."

"Stop!" Saint Peter thundered. "We know your arguments. We have seen the lies of them. And more importantly, we have seen that you know that they were lies! Because you Dr. Tiller, were particularly heinous, a suitably harsh punishment was chosen for you. I am sorry. May God someday take pity on you. You will need it." Blankness...

Blankness...George awoke to the sun warming his bed after a chilly night. He nourished himself. He stretched, extending his limbs farther than ever before. The sun beat down, warming his skin. A rain came, he was washed and drank deep of the cool water. Time passed.

George awoke to the sun climbing over the horizon. His memory had slowly returned, day after day. He remembered Dr. Tiller, and he regretted his actions in his loneliness. He remembered Saint Peter and his judgement. This wasn't so bad though. Lying here in the sun, alone, true, but then he had always been. Some kind of reincarnation thing he guessed. But not the terrible punishment threatened. His skin glowed in the early sun, just taking on the tinge of orange. The nights got chillier.

"Here's one Daddy." the young child said pointing to George. "Look how big and orange it is! It'll make a great Jack-o-lantern!" Pain speared through George as the father pulled the pumpkin from its vine. "You're right Sweetie! Let's go show Mommy!"

"NOOOOoooooooo!" howled George in silence. "You can't let this happen!" But it did. George felt every knife jab, every scoop, as the happy family carved his skin into a rictous of pain and horror. He gibbered as the candle inserted inside him burnt his skin from the inside, and finally, passed once more into darkness, as he felt the maggots eating away at the last bit of flesh he had left. Blankness...

Blankness...George awoke to the sun warming his bed after a chilly night. He nourished himself. He stretched, extending his limbs farther than ever before. The sun beat down, warming his skin. A rain came, he was washed and drank deep of the cool water. Time passed.

"How many times does he have to go through that?" asked Gazardiel, the Angel of New Beginnings. "You should know," replied Peter, "until he gets it"

We thought we were going to be telling the story of the phoenix rising from the ashes in Detroit, because that’s what we had been reading in the New York Times.

We’d be talking to Detroiters, and we’d say, I heard there’s a lot of exciting reinvention and renewal and green projects here. And they’d say, oh, really, is that right? Is that what’s going on here? Because my neighbor just got shot. Or, my trash hasn’t been picked up. What we were looking for was so against the norm of what people had been experiencing.

Interesting quotes from an interesting interview. Two filmmakers set out to make a documentary on the renewal of Detroit. What they found was quite the opposite. I'm now interested in seeing the movie.

I long ago decided/realized that while I love tasty food, I don't have fancy taste buds. I probably couldn't distinguish between two or three different breeds of garlic. I'm curious as to what you and Meade found.

"What strikes me about the New Yorker cover is that it not only clearly takes Obama down several pegs, but references the Eastwood moment of the RNC convention, which we were assured by our betters for several weeks was a disaster for the Romney campaign. Think about it: the New Yorker is mocking Barack Obama using an image from a gag from the Republican National Convention.

We all have off days, Carnifex. I really did think you'd lifted it from a Chick tract though. It was just missing an eternal lake of fire.

Yesterday I went out to get the mail and then on the way to the mailbox decided I might as well water the grass seed I put down on the sides of the new driveway. Then I figured as long as I was outside I should probably turn and water the compost pile. And what the hell, clear out the gardens with the leafblower and run over all the leaves in the backyard with the lawnmower (raking's for suckers). So a quick trip to the mailbox ended up taking an hour and a half.

I have a few little things to do today but mostly today's for watching the Packers stomp the Colts. Will probably watch the Yankees game tonight too.

Anne -- I grow garlic (I stick to russian red here in northern NY on Canadian border -- others grow german extra hardy with success). I would be interested in knowing the varieties you and meade really like and that grew in Wisc. tim wright

Anne -- I grow garlic (I stick to russian red here in northern NY on Canadian border -- others grow german extra hardy with success). I would be interested in knowing the varieties you and meade really like and that grew in Wisc. tim wright

@Joe Schmoe ...thanks for the bit about “Detropia.” I was born here, raised here, and live very near here and think I will see this movie to find out how accurately they portray Detroit as it is today. Suffice it to say there are far more populated and interesting places than "The Raven" near Poletown (GMC auto plant).

The interview seems to imply a good job, but we'll see. Detroit's vacantness, cited in the interview, can lead you to "find" inconsequential places and miss the good ones. Detroit has always been that way, even in the glory days...what you find will be dictated by what you want to find...and flashing lights.

The entertainment and music underground barely registered until Motown, who de-camped for LA and are no more "Detroit" sounds than Gregorian chants. But a lot of folks think it is. The underground is still here...wonder if Grady and Ewing found a bit of it? There's a couple of places on Cass Avenue, in a very populated area, still relatively poor, that feature new music and new acts, and if they missed them, they missed it all.

Grady is right about the illiteracy rate, it is a killer. Detroit's government, focused on the Detroit Common Council is still a clown show, with a couple exceptional people who get drowned out by the dolts. The Council, in the main, is one of those groups that is happy to get your help...only if you write them a blank check and then STFU about what they do with it.

In the next election the council members will actually have to live in the precincts they yap about, not the enclaves they use now. We'll soon see how that goes...heh heh.

Tim Wright said..."Anne -- I grow garlic (I stick to russian red here in northern NY on Canadian border -- others grow german extra hardy with success). I would be interested in knowing the varieties you and meade really like and that grew in Wisc. tim wright"

Tim, these are the named varieties I grew this year:KillarnyFlohaMuskRomanian RedSiberianGerman BrownZemoPersian StarOntario PurpleRussian RedBelarusBavarian Purple

Email me your mailing address and I'll be happy to send you a clove or two each of my favorites: Musk, Bavarian Purple, and Floha.